


Secret Meetings

by ashisfriendly



Series: Political Fantasies Do Come True [1]
Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe, Desk Sex, F/M, Face-Fucking, Interns & Internships, Office Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:05:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5897572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisfriendly/pseuds/ashisfriendly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Congressman/Intern AU || A short, political powerhouse of an intern saves Congressman Ben Wyatt from being snubbed from alliances in the work place. Now he can't get her out of his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is just really fucking, but see how I made up a plot up there?
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAZZ!!!!! You've always been so super supportive of me and have always been such a wonderful and kind soul regarding me and all of my work, That's INCREDIBLE and you are INCREDIBLE. Sorry this is so late. Thanks to bookworm09 and c00kie for all over support.

He’s listening to his voicemail messages, phone held against his ear by his shoulder, hands busy typing up an email, when someone barges through the door.

His fingers freeze, eyes flicking up. 

A girl -- no, a woman, stands there, fighting off the swinging door and pushing back the pieces of blond hair that have come loose from her ponytail. Her cheeks are tinged pink, but not on purpose, naturally rouged from whatever has caused her to rush into his office. Her eyes are growing, as if just registering that she’s run into his office like a small cyclone.

She’s wearing one of the lanyards the interns often wear but he’s never seen her before. He can’t read her name from here. 

“May I help you?” he asks.

“Congressman Wyatt,” she starts, breathless. Did she run here? “I’m sorry, it’s just, um.” She looks around the room as if it will help her piece together her thoughts. Her face scrunches up a bit in concentration. He hangs up the phone. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”

A heat boils up into his chest.

“Damnit, what are they doing?” Ben stands up and tightens his tie, unrolls his sleeves. “Tell me.”

The girl nods, her eyes focusing. 

“They’re meeting downstairs in conference room 319,” she says, grabbing his padfolio, two calculators, and his cellphone that he threw across his desk. He doesn’t remember doing that. He also doesn’t understand how she could know what calculators he trusts the most, either. “They don’t know I’m here.”

“Good, thank you,” Ben says, pulling his blazer on. “I can’t fucking believe this.” She hands him his phone and he pockets it, and then takes the padfolio, walking past her. She follows with the calculators clutched in her hands. “Assholes,” he whispers. “Fuck!”

“They thought if you weren’t there--”

“That it’d be easier to do this; to budget for shit they don’t need or -- _or they don’t have the money for_!”

“There was talk of pulling--”

“From taxes, I know, but that’s--”

“Not going to work,” she finishes.

They’re in the elevator now. His blood is pushing through his veins hot and hard, his fingers tapping along the padfolio in a furious rhythm. He knew it was too quiet in the offices, he knew that the lack of dinner meetings was odd. He fucking knew they would pull this shit.

“You should breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth, count backwards by 7, and think of… well, I always think of warm brownies, but you can think of whatever food you like.”

Ben wasn’t entirely listening to her whole piece of advice but his mind does clear a little at the thought of food. He’s hungry.

“Calzones, maybe.”

She looks up at him -- she really is tiny -- and scrunches her nose. There’s a dusting of freckles beneath her blue eyes. Her cheeks are starting to fade back to her natural skin tone and her lips are a cute, deep pink. 

Ben’s stomach growls and he looks away.

“Fine.” She sighs, unlocking her phone and pulling it up to her ear.

“Are you ordering me a calzone?” Ben asks.

She rolls her eyes in response as they walk out of the elevator and toward the conference room. She grabs his arm and he spins around just outside the door.

“Hold on, please,” she says into the phone. She pulls it away from her face and looks up at Ben, handing him his calculators. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I should follow you.”

Right, of course. If she follows him, they’ll know she tipped him off. 

“It wasn’t fair,” she says.

She shakes her head, her eyes softening but jaw tense. She stands up a little straighter and he can see the muscles in her neck work as she swallows. He trails his eyes over her face, notices the gloss over her eyes, and the red start to come back into her cheeks. She looks away, blinking, but meets his eyes again.

“Thank you,” Ben says, looking down to her badge. It’s flipped so he can’t see her name. He reaches out and turns it, letting his knuckles rest against her abdomen as he reads. “Ms. Knope.”

He finally drops his hand and they share a lasting gaze. It’s grateful and rich and surprisingly private. 

She raises the phone to her ear and spins around, walking toward the elevator.

“Hi, this is Leslie Knope with Congressman Wyatt’s office. I need a calzone, quickly, I don’t care what you put in it.”

He doesn’t realize he’s waiting for her to look back at him until she does, and his lip tilts up in a smile. She motions for him to go inside and turns a corner, out of sight.

\--

A week goes by, then another. They are busy as the budgets get passed around and looked over again and again. He isn’t cut from anymore secret meetings and he demands numbers budge and gets things cut that no one had any business trying for anyway. He’s tired all the time, he’s cranky, and he can’t stop thinking about Leslie Knope.

It’s idiotic, really. A knight in a black pencil skirt and blond hair rescues him from being cut from budget negotiations, and he can’t get her out of his head. He doesn’t understand how he doesn’t see her more often. He’ll be worried she’s been fired for what she did, but he’ll catch a small smile from her as she runs across a hallway, hands full and heels clicking against the linoleum. He’ll think she’s moved to another office, but catches her fiery and yelling over a pile of binders and legal pads at someone through a window as he walks to another meeting. He’ll wonder if she’s avoiding him but then she drops a calzone at his desk with a black coffee and they both allow themselves to take each other in before she runs out again. 

It all still feels inexplicably personal. 

He didn’t know her that first night -- still doesn’t, really -- and yet she already knew so much about him, like his trusted calculators, how to outfit him with his budget arsenal, how to finish his sentences that, because of his anger, he hadn’t quite formed yet. She, for some reason, risked her entire internship for him. 

No one’s ever looked out for him or been on his side before. 

The budget is due tomorrow so the office is crowded and loud. People are popping in and out and everything keeps being blown to shit and then perfectly placed in the span of seconds. It’s a fucking mess, but Ben loves budget season more than anything. 

“Congressman?”

Ben looks up, vision fuzzy from his computer, phone, and spreadsheets. He needs glasses.

“Ms. Knope,” he says totally even, totally calm.

She looks even smaller tonight, but not as tired or frantic as anyone else. Her hair is down, curls flattening a little from the long day, but her eyes are wide awake and bright along with her skin. She closes the door behind her and the rush of the whole office fades away with one soft click.

Leslie smiles at him and he warms through as if he’s being thawed out. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t come by sooner or anything, but I wanted to thank you for not telling anyone about the other day,” she says.

“Oh, please, no, I should be thanking you. Of course I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Oh.” 

She looks down at her hands, up to the ceiling, and back to him. This gives him a moment to admire her very short, curvy frame. He’s a pervert. She’s at least ten years younger than him, but she exudes something that won’t stop tugging at him. 

“Thank you,” she says.

Ben nods. “Thank you, Ms. Knope.”

There’s another long pause. It’s different than the one they shared outside conference room 319. She won’t meet his eyes and he’s having a hard time pulling his away from her. 

It’s not like he’s lonely, or has been pining for a partner. He’s never been that kind of person, but she’s tugging at him in an absolutely new way. He likes how tiny she is while being so big, he likes that her hair glows and her blue eyes aren’t tired or dulled down with pessimism. She has an optimistic shine to her entire body, the importance of justice sparked in her eyes, and determination in her veins. 

See, he doesn’t really know Leslie Knope, but he, along with everyone else he’s sure, can feel it and see it radiating off of her. All of it, all of her.

She’s also incredibly beautiful. He’s closed his eyes many times over the last two weeks and thought of her. Her short, curved legs, her small hands, fingernails painted in red. Her scrunched nose at hearing his preferred food, the freckles under her eyes. He imagines they’re in other places, too, and he imagines himself kissing every last one. He tries to calculate just how soft her hair would be between his fingers, how she’d taste, if the light hint of vanilla wafting from her skin would permeate his bedsheets. 

“Congressman?”

Ben blinks.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.”

Leslie laughs, a short giggle that digs under his ribs and jumpstarts his heart.

“I just asked if there’s anything you needed.”

Ben coughs, choking on the possibility she’s just dropped in his lap. A perverted possibility. A perverted possibility that could cause a scandal. He can see the headline now.

_Love Game Brings Ice Clown More Shame_

“Can you get us some dinner?” Ben asks.

Leslie blinks. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Dinner would be great. And you should join me.”

Leslie’s smile fades and Ben’s heart plummets. 

“Okay,” she says, her voice low. She spins and leaves and Ben is left to wonder. 

Wonder what she thinks he means by having dinner together, wonders if she’s telling someone that Congressman Wyatt is a pervert, wonders if she’s feeling the rush of blood and nerves like him, wonders how long he has to wait to kiss her.

Not long apparently, because by the time she comes back, placing styrofoam containers on his desk with a self satisfied thud, he’s ravenous and crazy. The numbers are starting to swirl and merge and he’s positive he hasn’t slept in two or three days, hasn’t eaten for hours, and that means he kisses cute interns without thinking.

Does it count as not thinking if, in fact, all he’s done is think about kissing her?

She makes the most amazing sound when their lips meet, like a surprised yelp that ends with a deeper moan of approval. Her mouth is sweet, almost that artificial watermelon flavor and he wonders if she’s been sucking on Jolly Ranchers or lollipops and it only makes his hunger for her drive upward. 

Leslie pulls him closer, gripping his tie like a lifeline. She pushes him away and pulls him in again, breathy words filling the gaps between kisses.

“Lock… the... door.”

Ben growls, gripping her hips and pulling her with him to the door. He slams her against it and her eyes are big, lips swollen and parted as her chest heaves. He pushes in the lock on the doorknob and presses into her, pulling her hair so her head tilts to the side, exposing the soft, pale skin of her neck. He moves in and inhales. Vanilla, not the artificial, candle smell that sometimes lingers on women, but the pure, sugary, warm aroma. He licks his lips and bites down onto her flesh. 

Leslie’s knees buckle and Ben presses himself hard against her to keep her upright. She clutches his arm, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as she gasps and whines. Ben drags his tongue lower, almost to her collarbone and he bites down again, this time lessening his teeth and sucking and twirling his tongue along her skin instead. She sighs and swears, cute high pitched, breathy words that cause his blood to pump and his hips to press against her. 

Fingers card through his hair and grip. He growls in response, moving lower and lower. His hands work at the buttons of her blouse so he can gain access to more skin and she pushes him closer to her chest as the buttons come loose. When he reaches her breasts, his tongue and lips work over time and his hands are rough and pulling, reminding him of his own inexperienced tragedies with breasts during high school. He can’t help it, he needs her tits in his hands, needs his thumb to run along her nipple until they harden and beg for his mouth — all rational thought on how bras work goes straight out the window.

So he tears it off. It breaks in his hands and instead of being mad about it breaking, Leslie hikes up a thigh against his waist and pulls him impossibly closer.

The skin along her breasts is dotted with freckles and Ben doesn’t have to wonder anymore what it’s like to find them and kiss each one. His mouth is hot and heavy on her skin, thumbs raising her nipples before his tongue takes over. Leslie arches her back, pulling his hair to bring him closer and whispering half words and moaning beautifully. He can feel her eyes watching him and he looks up at her as his tongue works and when their eyes meet, Ben is convinced a volcano is erupting in his chest and lava is rushing to every single part of him. 

Leslie’s legs shake and it takes him too long to notice that she’s slipping down the door. Ben pulls away to help her up but she drops to her knees instead, hands undoing his belt. Her brow furrow a little, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth. Ben pushes her hair from her face, keeps running his fingertips through her hair, humming at the way the strands feel, how she looks below him. 

She pulls his pants down and her eyes rake him in, so intense and hot that Ben slips his hand over his dick, stroking himself. She watches, only for a moment, entranced by the movement and how close he is to her face. She doesn’t back away.

Leslie opens her mouth, inching forward and Ben moves closer, until her lips touch the tip of his dick and he lets go.

Ben growls out a, “Fuck,” as she takes him deeper, wrapping her fingers along his shaft. The way she takes him in so unbelievably slow, every centimeter that he moves deeper into her mouth, sends wave after wave of pleasure up into his belly and along his spine. His hands shake as one rises to steady himself against the door and the other stays in her hair. 

She doesn’t take him in all the way before slowly taking him out of her mouth, kissing the tip before taking his cock again. Deeper, but still not all the way before she kisses the tip and starts over again. He’s mumbling her name along with nonsense until she finally slides him all the way in, his dick hitting the back of her throat and he fucking he loses it.

The hand in her hair grips and holds her in place while his hips move, each push earning him a whimper, a groan, a shaky breath. His head falls back and he moans, trying to tell her how good she feels, trying to form enough praise to let her know how amazing she is, how perfect, how incredible. He isn’t successful, but he hopes she understands anyway.

Ben glances down. The image of her, topless but still wearing her dark grey pencil skirt with black pumps is better than any sight he could’ve day dreamed about. His mind is a filthy place but apparently it isn’t as perfect as Leslie Knope on her knees, lips raw and red, eyes closed, and nails digging into his thighs. 

Seeing her only makes him move faster, deeper. She holds on, doesn’t protest. She only moans, sending vibrations through his dick and out into his body. His hitting the back of her throat, her tongue is pushing on the underside of his cock, and Ben can’t help the rhythm now, the depths. 

There’s a quick, loud smack and Leslie’s mouth tightens and Ben looks down, springing away from her as her head falls forward, hand going to the back of her head. He gets down, hand running over her head to join hers at the back of her skull.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

Her eyes are glossy, a few stray streaks down her cheeks from tears. There’s spit coming down her chin and he wipes it away, wipes the tears away, tries to push her chin up. She nods.

“I’m sorry, hey, are you sure you’re okay?”

Leslie takes a deep breath and nods, focusing her eyes on him finally. 

“Yeah,” she says, her voice low and a little hoarse. Ben kisses her because he needs to. “I’m fine.”

Ben keeps swiping at her cheeks, chin, moving her hair from her face. Leslie nods some more to assure him she’s okay, even lets out a small giggle and the weight on Ben’s chest lifts.

“Should I kiss it?” Ben asks. “Make it feel better?”

Leslie puffs out her bottom lip a little and nods. Ben stands and helps her up, walking behind her. He kisses the back of her head and Leslie presses her ass back into his crotch and he groans. He’s going to mess up her skirt. 

Ben slides his hands down the side of her neck, over her shoulders to her chest. She inhales sharply and sinks back into him and he kisses her shoulder while his hands move down to her waist, rubbing his hands into her hip bones. She moans and Ben keeps rubbing as he moves them until Leslie is able to lean forward and hold herself up on the edge of his desk. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Ben asks, sliding his kisses to her neck. Her hair tickles his nose, smelling fruity. She nods. “With everything?” he whispers, hands traveling down, down, until he has the bottom of her skirt between his fingers.

She nods, but Ben needs verbal confirmation, so he asks if she’s sure again as he lifts her skirt over her ass, growling and palming each cheek.

“Yes,” she says and moans. “ _Yes_.”

He needs to get a condom but it’s hard to pull himself away from her ass. She’s wearing cute pink, cotton panties with sunflowers on them. He hasn’t been with a woman with underwear like this, maybe ever. Even in high school, it was like these things were planned so the girls tried to be grown up by wearing lacy thongs.

Ben slides a finger underneath the fabric and rubs it between cotton and flesh before pulling it back and letting it snap back onto her skin. She squeals and Ben smiles, doing it again just to watch her squirm and make noise. Wonderful noise.

“Don’t move,” he says, watching his hand slide over her ass, pinching her just a little as he walks away.

He walks around his desk and opens a drawer, digging far into the back of it. He glances at her and finds her not watching him, but looking over a spreadsheet. She even pushes a finger under one and looks at the paper underneath.

“Find any errors?” he teases, ripping open the foil and rolling on the condom.

“I wouldn’t expect to find any, Congressman,” she says, eyes glued to the papers.

He almost tells her to call him Ben, but he likes the way the title sounds on her lips. He’ll tell her later.

Ben walks back around and lightly brushes his fingers over her ass, sliding his hand down between her legs. 

“I didn’t know budgets made you this wet, Ms. Knope.”

Leslie giggles but Ben presses a little harder and she moans.

“Not the budgets, Congressman Wyatt,” she says, “just you.”

“Good Lord.”

Ben pushes her underwear to the side and teases her cunt. She’s wet and warm, shaking beneath every push of his fingers. He lines her, teases her clit and slides one finger inside her, sighing at how beautiful she feels. He pulls his hand back, licking his finger.

Fuck.

One hand pushes her underwear to the side, the flowers stretching and bunching beneath his fingers, while the other holds his cock firmly in his hand. He lines himself up, her slick heat making him groan. Leslie straightens a little, tenses as if bracing herself for what comes next.

He pushes in and his eyes can’t stay open, stars erupting behind his eyelids into an infinite sea. She tightens around him and he pulls out and thrusts again, slowly, much slower than he thought this would be, but each and every part of her pussy is intense and perfect, he has to take his time.

For now.

Leslie sighs and moans, Ben’s fingers digging into the flesh of her hips and grabbing onto the pink fabric of her underwear. He allows himself to move faster, watching her back arch and her hair sway with the thrust of his hips. Her fingertips are turning white on the edge of his desk, her head turning so he can catch her open mouthed profile silhouetted by his desk lamp.

He speeds up, digs deeper, hits flesh against flesh harder. She responds with beautiful, high whines that mix with moans and yeses like a symphony. He tries to tell her to be quieter but he doesn’t mean it enough to matter. 

Leslie grips onto the desk, pushing back with each of his thrusts, driving him deeper and deeper. Ben’s hands slide up her back, on her breasts, and along her hips. He teases around her lower stomach. Each time he moves up to her breasts instead of moving lower, she whines or lets out a groan of frustration. He smiles, fucking her until she succumbs to his thrusts and forgets about how he’s teasing her and does it all over again, biting her shoulder when she whines. 

“You’re mean,” she says between breaths.

Ben slides his fingers under her underwear and touches her clit, Leslie gasping and falling forward on his desk.

“Careful, those are official government documents, Ms. Knope.”

Her hand is on top of a spreadsheet and she curls her fingers, crinkling it. He bends over her and tangles his fingers in her hair, gripping.

“I said be careful.”

She lets out a shaky breath and lets the paper go and Ben kisses her head before straightening back up and fucking the shit out of her.

Leslie falls flat on his desk, papers scattering and his monitor wobbling. He doesn’t care, only cares about the silky, tight way her pussy squeezes him, how each push of his hips and circle of her clit makes her babble incoherently, how when he takes a step closer so he can get deeper, she says, “Fuck, Congressman Wyatt,” like a prayer.

Ben almost thinks he won’t be able to wait for her, but she starts to tighten and shake quickly, and he fucks her harder, fingers keeping their pace on her clit and her orgasm makes her hips shake under his hand and she grips spreadsheets again as she screams, but he allows it because something about it makes him feel like his body is on fire.

She’s practically limp on his desk as he fucks her, whimpering and moaning, trying to get herself upright again, but she can’t. He speeds his hips, reaching to grab her hand and pulls it back. Ben holds onto her fingers and she tightens around his cock.

“Lord,” he whispers, quickening his hips. “Fuck.”

Her fingers grip his and the heat in his thighs spreads quickly. He thrusts, faster, faster, until his eyes can’t stay open and the fireworks explode against the black and he’s cumming inside her.

Ben falls forward and their hips keep moving in small, soft thrusts until Ben thinks he’s going to fall asleep right here, bent over Leslie Knope at his desk.

Leslie stirs beneath him and he kisses her hair, her neck, her back, and with shaky arms, picks himself up. He slips out of her and they both groan. Ben disposes the condom in a trashcan under his desk, pulling up his pants, and comes back to Leslie, who is still flat on his desk.

He lightly pats her ass and she wiggles it back at him. He smiles, sliding the skirt back down and gently pulling her hand so she stands up. She wobbles so Ben spins her around, guiding her to sit against his desk. He takes her face in his hands and gives her soft, quick kisses that she accepts with curved lips. His last kiss catches her teeth.

“You okay?” he asks, smoothing the hair from her face.

She nods. “Yes, Congressman.”

Ben kisses her again.

“Ben,” he says, “please call me Ben.”

“Okay, Ben.” He leans his forehead onto hers. “You can call me Leslie.”

“Okay, Leslie.”

They stay like that for awhile, Ben sometimes grazing her nose with his or sliding his hands along her arms. Goosebumps rise on her skin and he moves to get her shirt for her, holding her broken bra in one hand. 

“Sorry about this,” he says, holding it up. He throws it in the trashcan.

Leslie shrugs, buttoning her shirt. “You’ll have to buy me one.”

“Deal.” Ben opens the two styrofoam containers, clearing his desk to make room for their meal. “But first, dinner.”

“A date?” Leslie teases, sitting on a chair, pulling it close to the desk. Her eyes sparkle playfully, but there’s an edge of doubt in the curve of her mouth.

Ben sits in the other seat, reaching for her hand and kissing her palm twice before confirming.

“A date.”


End file.
